


The Token

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Angst, Gambling, M/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kai's gambling addiction leads to trouble</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Token

****

**‘There you go, just as you asked for, my lord. The finest silver, inlaid with gold. And see here – graven as deep as it would take it. You could wear this a hundred years and still you’d be able to read it.’**

 **The metalsmith is justly proud of his latest creation. I take the small, exquisite thing from him and examine it carefully in the light of his workshop window.**

 **‘She must be very dear to you,’ he says.**

 **Almost I forget myself. It is on the tip of my tongue to ask him, ‘Who?’**

 **But I nod, and smile, and say, ‘Yes, indeed,’ and lest he ask me the same question, I distract him with some technical question about polishing. Soon we are haggling good-naturedly over the final price, and his curiosity is forgotten at the sight of the coins I am counting into his hand …**

 

***

 

I hate this place.

 

We come here every spring, and it never gets any better.

There’s no avoiding it: we must trade if we are to survive. The forest provides much of what we need, but still we cannot make salt, or oil, or bronze cooking pots, or fine clothing; and weapons and horses cost us dear in silver and gold. So we come with the surplus from our winter’s hunting – deerskins and smoked venison and polished boar’s tusks – with the wool spun by our women at the hearth-fires on the long evenings, and perhaps with a barrel of mead or a few sheep, to see what they will gain us, here at the port.

 

A dreary, muddy, rat-hole of a town. It reeks of seaweed, and dead fish, and the sun never seems to shine; or if it does, my head is too sore to appreciate the bright light. I drink too much on these trips. Not much else to do here, if you are as poor a negotiator as I am, and hence relegated to guarding the store-hut, or looming threateningly in the background while Arthur does all the talking.

 

And of an evening, well, maybe a few flea-bitten wenches will offer themselves, but if you don’t fancy them (and I don’t, these days), there is only gambling, and more drinking – and more talking. Endless gossip, and speculation, and stories, and rumours, and each night there are new faces at the lodging-house table, or in the mead halls, and I never can remember any of their names.

 

They all look at me askance. I don’t fit. Even in this place, where men come from all over, from Gaul, and from Greece, and sometimes from still farther afield, still I am an alien and my presence must be endlessly explained. I have tried dressing as a Celt, leaving behind my furs and my fleeces and even my axe; but that made no difference. So now I dress as a Saxon, and drink like one too, and they can make what they please of me. I try to pretend I don’t care.

 

I shouldn’t care. Not when I have Arthur at my side; and especially now, after I’ve shared his bed for three seasons.

But all the same, it is always a relief when the last bundle of skins has been handed over and the last coin accounted for, and all our purchases have been safely loaded onto the pack-horses, and we can go home again.

Home, where we can sleep in the same bed at night, and ride out into the forest sometimes, where we can be sure of being alone together.

Here, there are too many hostile and prying eyes.

 

I hate this place.

 

I pull my cloak closer about me, lean wearily against the storehouse wall, and wonder what is keeping Arthur and the others. They should have been back by now …

 

***

 

 **

Kai looks so miserable, standing there. I know he detests these trading excursions; but I need him by my side, and he would hate it still more if I left him behind.

**

 **I am late, too, after sending the others down to the waterside to see whether they can shift our last few furs, and then slipping away to run my errands.**

 **But I hope he will think it worth the wait …**

 **He looks up as I approach, and his face brightens when he sees that I am alone.**

 **‘All well?’ I ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.**

 **‘All well,’ he replies expressionlessly, then mutters under his breath, ‘As well as it ever is in this shit-hole.’**

 **‘Come into the store hut,’ I say. ‘We need to check over that last batch of oil jars. There is a rumour that the Greek trader has been giving short measure …’**

 **Then I wink at him, and he gives me a dazzling smile in return, and we go inside and push a barrel in front of the door.**

 **We have to be quick; but we have had much practice at that.**

 **I am on my knees in front of him before the dust has settled.**

 **All too soon I am wiping my mouth and he is lacing up his breeches, looking happier than he has in days.**

 **‘Thank you,’ he whispers, straightening up. ‘I didn’t think we’d have the chance, not here.’**

 **I take his hand and pull him close to me. ‘I have something more for you,’ I say.**

 **‘But you –’ He lays a hand on me, and it is not easy to resist him, but time is short and the others will be here soon.**

 **‘I’ll wait. This won’t.’ I draw a deep breath, suddenly a little nervous, and give him the speech I have been rehearsing carefully all morning. ‘Kai, you’ve given me everything I’ve asked for while we’ve been here, and I know I’ve asked a great deal of you. So now I should like to give you something in return.’**

 **‘You just did,’ he says, grinning.**

 **I laugh joyously, my pompous formality swept aside in a moment, together with my nerves. ‘So I did. But I hope this will last a little longer.’**

 **I pull out the little leather pouch from the breast of my tunic, and slide the ring onto Kai’s finger, the third finger of his left hand. The metal is still warm from lying against my body; and as I had judged, it fits perfectly.**

 **He looks at it in the dim light, puzzled.**

 **I want to tell him how much this means but I can’t find the right words, so I speak lightly: ‘A gift, Kai my heart. Wear it for me. See –’**

 **And I slide it off again, and turn it to the light coming through the crack of the door, to show him the ‘A’ cut into the inside.**

 **‘A token,’ I say. ‘Now you’ll always have a little bit of me with you.’**

 **He smiles, and puts it on again. ‘A lover’s ring?’**

 **‘Yes.’ I always find this so difficult to say, but I know he longs to hear it: ‘I love you.’**

 **‘Thank you,’ he says gravely. ‘And I you.’**

 **‘Not long to wait now,’ I say. ‘One more night. Then we can go home.’**

 **He presses his body to mine. ‘I’ve missed this more than I thought possible,’ he murmurs in my ear.**

 **‘I too,’ I say, feeling him tremble against me.**

 **Then there are footsteps outside, and we spring apart, and push the barrel hastily aside. It is Conor come to collect a bundle of squirrel pelts, and I pick up the ledger and the tallies and turn away so he will not see that I am hard…**

 

***

 

This last evening drags worse than any of the others. Arthur is happy and relaxed, all our business concluded; he is drinking mead and swapping news and tales with that devious dog Kirk, whom I have never liked.

I am stuck next to his besotted wife Bron, horse-faced and sheep-brained, whom I have never liked either. She has left their baby with its wet-nurse but insists on telling me all about it. If I have to listen to one more account of infantile puking I think I will throw up myself.

Finally she takes herself off to bed, but Kirk and Arthur chatter happily on. I am bored, and impatient for tomorrow, and suddenly I cannot bear to stay in this room any longer.

I need something to do; and it has come to my mind that the Gaulish horse-traders I was drinking with last night were surprisingly good company. Better than Kirk at any rate; and perhaps tonight my luck will improve …

 

I get abruptly to my feet. ‘I’m going out,’ I say.

 

Arthur smiles, and says mildly, ‘Very well. Enjoy yourself. But be back by midnight – we’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning.’

 

***

 

 **At midnight, when the sentry does his rounds of the streets, I am still wakeful by the lodging-house hearth, nursing the dregs of my mead and wondering what has happened to Kai.**

 **I really should go and look for him.**

 **The door opens just as I have got to my feet and picked up my cloak, and in he staggers, head bowed, clearly the worse for drink but otherwise, to my great relief, unharmed.**

 **I greet him cheerily: ‘Welcome back, stranger.’**

 **He looks up and sees me – and his face changes. There is dread in his eyes. I do not understand.**

 **Until I look down at his hand. His left hand. The third finger is bare.**

 **He cannot meet my gaze; he looks at the floor, and says nothing.**

 **‘The ring,’ I say, very quietly. If I raise my voice I will break apart, or start to weep, or perhaps strike him.**

 **‘I lost it,’ he mumbles.**

 **‘Lost it? Where?’ I ask, although I know very well where. Or rather, how, and to whom.**

 **No answer.**

 **‘Come on,’ I say, ‘we need to go and search. I’ll help you.’**

 **He flinches at the sharpness I cannot keep out of my voice. I know I am being cruel. But I need him to tell me the truth. If he cannot –**

 **If he lies to me, then our dream is over.**

 **He draws a harsh breath. ‘I gambled, and I lost it,’ he says.**

 **And then he does look up into my eyes.**

 **‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I failed you.’**

 **Words fail me.**

 **I pull my cloak around me and stride out of the door without looking back.**

 

***

 

I did not hear Arthur come in last night, although I lay wakeful for what felt like hours before uneasy sleep finally claimed me. And this morning, all the while we were loading the horses for the return journey, he barely spoke to me unless it was necessary to give orders.

All afternoon we rode through the forest; he placed me at the rear of the pack-train and himself at the front. He did not so much as glance at me.

And now we have made camp where we always do, half way home, by the great oak tree in the clearing where the spring bubbles up out of the ground and the Wood People sometimes leave their strange little offerings to the water spirits.

A peaceful place; but there is no peace here tonight for me.

 

I deserve this.

 

The others must be aware that we have quarrelled; as we share our evening meal, they treat Arthur with careful deference, and give me pitying glances.

I keep my silence. It is all I can do to hold back the tears.

 

When it is time to sleep – ‘Kai and I will keep watch,’ Arthur says.

The others roll themselves in their blankets around the fire, with our precious purchases piled close at hand; the horses fidget at their pickets.

 

‘Come.’ Arthur beckons me, and I follow him a little way, out of earshot.

I am afraid.

I do not know what to say to him.

Nor what he will say to me – although I know it will be fully justified, and that it will tear me to the heart.

I brace myself.

 

‘I owe you an apology.’

 

I catch my breath. That was not what I was expecting. ‘For – for what?’ I stammer. ‘I am the one at fault.’

‘For what I’ve made you suffer today.’

I shake my aching head, and growl, ‘No more than was due to me.’

‘And for – for not telling you all of the truth, yesterday,’ he says sadly. ‘I couldn’t find the words.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say. ‘I took what you gave me and I gambled it away. Why are you not angry with me? You have every right to be.’

‘Kai.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders. I struggle, but he holds firm. ‘Kai. Look at me.’

Reluctantly, I let his dark eyes bore into mine, laying bare my shame.

 

Very softly, he says: ‘I was pledging you my life and my love and my soul along with my gift. And in your heart of hearts you knew it, even though I failed to make it clear. Now. Is there anything I could say to you – any single word of reproach – that would make you feel any worse than you do at this moment?’

I shake my head. ‘No. None.’

‘Then what would be the point? You’ve already punished yourself, far worse than I ever could. It’s made me feel bad enough, denying you today. It won’t make me feel any better, to go on kicking you when you’re down. And …’

‘And it won’t bring back what I’ve lost,’ I say, feeling tears rising in my throat.

I turn away, ducking out of his grasp.

His kindness is harder to bear than his bitterest anger would have been. I hate myself for my weakness, and for not seeing what it was he had given me, until I had let it slip away from me.

 

Then I feel him take hold of my wrist.

 

‘No?’ he whispers, and something cool and smooth slips onto my finger, the third finger of my left hand …

 

***

 

 **

He gasps in disbelief; then throws his arms around my neck and breaks into muffled, wracking sobs.

**

 **‘You idiot,’ I say quietly. ‘You complete and utter idiot. I love you so much. Come here.’**

 **I hush him, and stroke his hair, and we end up in a heap on the ground, and for the next half-hour the Saxons and the Painted People could walk in and help themselves to our traded goods and very likely our horses too, for all we know or care.**

 **‘It is – the same?’ he asks hesitantly, when he can speak again.**

 **‘The very same,’ I murmur into his ear. ‘The finest silver, with a band of gold, and the first letter of my name cut into the inside so deep you could wear it for a hundred years and still be able to read it. Much too good for that greasy Gaulish bastard you lost it to. So I went and won it back.’**

 **‘But how?’**

 **‘I got lucky,’ I say, and now I am laughing. ‘I guessed it was him and his cronies you’d gone to find – to try to win back what you’d lost the night before. And I guessed which hovel they’d be carousing in, and got it right first time.’**

 **‘Did you fight him?’ he asks anxiously.**

 **‘No. Much better than that. I gambled. We owe Kirk a barrel of mead, by the way. The old fox showed me a betting trick with three cups, which was new to me, and I gambled on the Gauls not knowing it either. And I gambled on my being able to run faster than them when I won … and on your heart still being mine, even if I did choose to break it a little before I claimed it back.’**

 **He sniffs, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. ‘That last bet was a certainty.'**

 **Then he looks at me, very seriously.**

 **‘I’ll never gamble again,’ he says. ‘It’s a weakness. A fault in me that should be put right.’**

 **I smile and shake my head. ‘That’s not necessary, Kai. How will we ever while away these long journeys without our customary stupid wagers? And anyway …’ I lean forward and kiss him. ‘I love you for who and what you are. You’re Kai. My Kai. An inveterate and hopeless gambler. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.’**

 **A tear rolls down his cheek.**

 **I brush it away. ‘Just don’t ever gamble with my heart again.’**


End file.
